


A New Beginning

by fell_on_black_days



Series: The Crows of Sahriel [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27341380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fell_on_black_days/pseuds/fell_on_black_days
Summary: A master spy and assassin falls in love with a changeling bard.
Relationships: Original D&D Character(s)/Original D&D Character(s), Widukind Fallenshot/Mystriss Horthos
Series: The Crows of Sahriel [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1977340
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

The sky opened up over Cragas as the noontime bells rang out from Hightown Cathedral and Widukind restocked the general goods store. It had been five years since his father died and three since Gunnvar had appointed him spymaster of the city. He’d “bought” old man Gwyllen’s shop shortly before the codger had retired and assumed his duties over this murder of Crows. 

He’d been forced to forego a prosthetic for the sake of his cover. Wounded soldiers would barely be able to afford farm tools let alone enchanted arms and a shopkeep’s earnings would only marginally outstrip the former. He’d been annoyed at the inconvenience at first, but like all things, it was just another factor in his work. At least he’d been born left handed. He shuddered at the thought of doing everything with one nondominant hand. 

Back in the present, his right bicep began to ache and the old phantom pain returned, making his nonexistent fingers and forearm twitch as thunder rolled overhead. He ignored the sensation and continued to put away various parcels until he heard the shop bell tinkle as someone walked in. Looking over, he saw one of his agents, still in the robes of a Talios acolyte and freshly off a short fact finding assignment. 

With a quick twist of his fingers, he signaled that they were alone and the Crow began to speak. “The new arrivals brought a changeling to the temple. The Vicecanon saw to its health herself.”

Widukind raised an eyebrow to the agent’s icy attitude. “Feykin or not, I expect unbiased reports.” 

The Crow pressed his thin lips into an even thinner grimace. “Is that an order, sir?”

“Only if it needs to be,” he replied. “What else do you have for me?”

The Crow’s shoulders relaxed an eighth of an inch before he continued in a more even tone. “The Vicecanon had a cleric from the smithing guild and that dragonborn scholar escort the other two arrivals to the lower reaches. They should be back within a few hours.” The agent paused as Widukind leaned back against the counter and folded his arms in thought.

“Which cleric?” he asked.

“Durren Blackhammer, sir. The dwarf happened to be there dropping off surgical tools.” Widukind nodded in reply.

“Keep me informed on any further developments. I want to know who the changeling is as well as where the other two came from. What do you have on them?”

“One’s human, a ranger as far as I could tell. Red hair, western accent. Likely from a village in the foothills. The other’s a tiefling. Has rhinestones on her horns. Didn’t talk much but was twitchy. Carried a few daggers so she’s either a merc or a very conspicuous thief. Could be either.”

Widukind stood as he nodded again. “I want their names and any other information by the end of the week. You have permission to use the network for that purpose. Stay to the usual inquiries for now.” 

“Yes sir. Anything further?”

“No, that’s all,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re dismissed.” Widukind watched as the Crow left the way he came and quickly made his way through the rain. Ever since the attack five years ago, all new arrivals to the city were monitored and assessed for possible threats. How the Council convinced Queen Artris to keep with it was a mystery. Even after three assassination attempts the monarch was dismissive of extra security on her account. It just made Widukind’s job more tedious.

Between that and assisting Gunnvar with background checks, Widukind’s agents barely had a moment to themselves. Gwyllen used to say that busy hands were happy hands but Widukind could only attest to the total number of headaches he’d had last month. Twenty-seven, if anyone was counting. He envied civilians for their freetime, yet another thing Crows weren’t entitled to it seemed. 

His thoughts cut away with a sigh as the shop door rang again, announcing the entry of a customer who’d been caught in the rain. One of the Haugan boys stomped in from what was now a downpour, tracking mud as he went. Widukind gave the kid a look that screamed,  _ I just mopped there  _ and may or may not have scared the piss out of the boy.

To his credit the young dwarf had the decorum to look sheepish. “Sorry Mister Fallenshot. I’ll clean it up right away.”

Widukind rubbed his eyes as he sighed, “No kid, I’ve got it. What did your mom send you for this time?” 

The boy rattled off a short list of odds and ends needed at the pub before grabbing a mop despite Widukind’s assurances. He supposed it was nice in a way. The half-elf was still uncomfortable around most children and didn’t like how sensitive they were. He quickly grabbed what the kid needed and added up his total. As the boy paid and looked outside with dread, Widukind sighed and grabbed the kid an umbrella. 

“Dova would kill me if I sent you home without something to keep you dry. Just tell your mom to bring it back the next time she stops in.” The dwarf beamed up at him as he nodded and rushed out towards home. Widukind couldn’t suppress a grimace and a shiver as he did. Feck, kids were weird.


	2. Chapter 2

The newcomers must have been easy to trace because Widukind’s agent returned the next morning with dossiers on all three of them. The ranger and tiefling were quick enough to skim through but the changeling had a file thick as his fist. She went by Mistress Layla and worked as a traveling bard of some repute. House Horthos had seen to her education and later musical training. It was strange to think that he would have been in Wrord running around with Esborn while she was busy learning how to properly take afternoon tea. He’d almost dismissed her as another snowflake member of nobility until he got to the last quarter of her records. 

He forced down a flashback as he read about the death of her fiance. Thoughts of Byron swirled through his head as he blinked back memories of the Bleed. As he read on, he found that the maidservant who had been stationed in Horthos Manor had reported near catatonic grief followed by hysterical breakdowns when the woman thought no one was looking. He’d been much the same after losing his husband. He knew what it was like to grieve without anyone to help or understand. 

He closed the file with a sigh and slid it into the locked cabinet below the floorboards before returning to the shop. As if on cue, customers began swarming the place. He spent several hours just putting together orders and exchanging coin before the clientele faded into a slow stream of agents on their weekly check in. 

It was nearly evening when he heard the bell ring again and had to suppress a groan. He rounded the corner to find a silver dragonborn and bedazzled tiefling perusing his wares. He nearly sighed as he put two and two together and was almost composed when a woman he had missed peeked around a display to talk to them. 

For a moment it felt like time stopped. She was a decent height with long, thick hair flowing down her back in chestnut with streaks of white near her temples. Her clothes were obviously meant for a musical performance with blue tones and hints of noble heraldry. But what caught his attention were her eyes. They shone like emerald pools as she spoke to her companions and brightened further when she- oh gods she was looking at him.

He shook himself from his stupor and cracked an easy grin, “How can I help you ladies?” The dragonborn giggled a bit as the tiefling eyed him up and down. The other woman blushed a bit before introducing herself and proceeding to barter for a few things. He put each of their orders together. 

As he totaled Layla’s purchase she looked up to him and said, “Oh! I just realized that we never got your name.” He smiled at her and introduced himself as he handed her her purchase. Each of the women gave their names in return and thanked him for his assistance. The dragonborn, Xion, and tiefling, Bryseis, walked out the door ahead of their “human” companion, who seemed to linger with something on her mind.

Before she left Layla looked at him and said, “I’ll be performing at the Deranged Barrel later. You should come by.” He nodded as she turned away. And if he said he wasn’t watching her hips sway as she left the shop? Well he’d be a liar.


	3. Chapter 3

He managed to find a quiet corner at the Deranged Barrell later that night. Word of the upcoming performance had spread and half the city was there to hear a famous bard. Waeldmar had noticed his arrival and sent one of the boys to clear him a spot in the back. Within minutes Dova brought him an ale and the umbrella he’d loaned her son the day before, eyeing him as she did. “What brings you out here tonight, Mister Fallenshot? You normally keep to your shop. ‘Aven’t seen you in a month,” she said in Dwarvish.

He gave a lazy grin to the bar matron as he accepted his drink. “Nothing in particular. Heard there was going to be a performance tonight and thought I may as well,” he replied. Conversing with Dova in her native tongue always brought the mother of nine joy as he spoke “her” dialect. To be fair he  _ was _ fluent in that particular cadence, but it was one of twelve he’d learned to copy over the years.

The dwarvish woman, for her part, narrowed her eyes at him as she curled her lips, searching for a little gossip. “Enchanted by the Mistress are we?” She playfully swatted at his shoulder, “I knew sendin’ her yer way was the right idea!”

He sighed and looked at her in all seriousness, “Dova, when have you known me to court? Ever?”

“Yer thirty years old, dear boy. Everyone needs ta’ settle down eventually,” she clucked. “Get married, ‘ave a few wee babes, an’ anyone would be content.”

Widukind forced a chuckle as he felt a pang in his chest. If only she knew just how far away he was from that sort of life, she’d probably go pale and have him thrown out to protect those “wee babes” of  _ hers _ . “That’s never been the life for me, Dova. Besides, who wants a one-armed shopkeep for a husband?”

He’d thought he’d finally closed the conversation and raised his mug to his lips as she said, “Well those young lasses over there may wan’ ta’ say different.” He choked and coughed down the ale as his ears began to heat a slight red. The innkeep laughed and winked at him as she turned to take care of other customers.

Blessedly, no one seemed to notice his miscalculation and moments later a slight hush overtook the pub as the lights dimmed. Mistress Layla hopped up on stage and immediately began playing a jaunty tune to get the crowd’s attention. That slowly slid into more of a ballad and then a lively rendition of battling violins. Throughout it all Widukind could see the skill and effort she put into the performance.

Her eyes gleamed as hints of magic washed off the stage, enhancing the experience for the audience. Her movement attracted attention from young and old alike as she bowed her violin, almost as if daring those around her to join in the music. The white streak in her hair caught the light in odd ways, framing her features as she swayed. It was mesmerizing. 

She slowly finished the set and he was nearly ready to leave when things began to change. She had put aside her instrument and greeted the audience like an old friend. He had thought that was the end but she surprised him when she began to sing, freezing him to his seat.

It was an old Sylvan tune, not understood by most, but his time as a Crow had expanded his linguistic knowledge and his stint in Imammelle had exposed him to a few folk songs. This one was often sung by mothers to their children during rainy nights about two lovers long lost, never to meet again in life, but reunited as thunder and rain in a storm.

As he looked at her he saw the audience enraptured by her voice. She had a deep sadness hidden away in those emerald eyes that reverberated through the notes like a haunt. He thought back to her file, describing the loss of her fiance, and immediately made his own emotional connection to Byron. He hadn’t thought of his lost husband in almost a decade, the pain was just too great. But her voice brought comfort in a way he’d never felt. He sat there, glued to the spot as she finished and watched as a single tear fell down her cheek, only to be outshone by her radiant smile and eyes full of peace.

Coming back to his senses he noticed her gaze as it landed on him. He gave a weak smile and a nod as he stood to cross the room and greet her. The crowded nature of the tavern and his own emotional vulnerability made his muscles tense but he wouldn’t leave without telling her how much he enjoyed the performance. They spoke for a few moments, flirting as she blushed, and he gave a soft smile along with his goodbye.

As he exited the tavern into the cool night air he couldn’t get her off his mind. It was beyond strange to see someone who had suffered as she had that could still genuinely smile and laugh like she did. A flower stand caught his eye on the way home and he made a mental note to send her some in the morning. If only to know she was smiling once again.


	4. Chapter 4

_ Widukind and Byron lay in their bed on a lazy morning. The latter was gushing on and on about their wedding and subsequent honeymoon, caught in the fires of planning a large event. Widukind smiled as he leaned on his left hand, happy that his fiance was so animated despite the pre-noon hour. He reached his right hand out to pull the other man into a kiss… only to feel nothing move.  _

_ He looked down in confusion to see the mangled flesh of his forearm as it slipped free of a bloodstained shackle. His eyes darted back up to see Byron still in the midst of wedding plans and watched in horror as his love began to bleed from his throat and choke on his words.  _

_ Widukind tried to scream, to say anything at all, but he was trapped in some terrifying sense of slow-motion. Byron continued to speak as his blood gushed and splattered against the sheets. He looked over at Widukind and said, “Aren’t we so happy, love?” _

Widukind gasped awake from the nightmare, drenched in a cold sweat as his eyes darted around the room. The sun had barely started to rise, casting intimidating shadows in the odd pre-dawn light. He raised his hand to grasp at the end of his right arm, using the scars as a sort of grounding mechanism while he tried to catch his breath. “Just a dream. It was just a dream,” he said to the empty room. 

He sat like that for twenty minutes or so, trying to force down the panic. When he began to feel closer to baseline he got out of bed to wash and dress for the day. Waking like this had become the norm after the events in Imammelle. This dream hadn’t even been that bad, but it’s way of taunting him with what could have been seemed particularly cruel.  _ Crows don’t form attachments. Crows don’t fall in love. Crows don’t get married to happy husbands and make happy families. _

He’d repeated that to himself a thousand times before marrying Byron and a million times after. He knew, in hindsight, that a happy domestic life was not for him. With who he was and what he’d done? Even if he’d been able he wouldn’t have deserved it. Falling in love had been the universe setting him up to fail. Watching Byron die had been his just reward.

But a small part of him still yearned for that life. It shone on the horizon, permanently out of reach and tantalizing in its totality. Dova’s words the night before echoed in his head as a tiny piece of him wondered what it would be like to get married and settle down. To wake up with his spouse in his arms every morning. To celebrate holidays with family rather than patrolling rooftops, cloaked in shadow. It was a pleasant day dream but it’s claws reached out like a waking nightmare every time he crashed back to reality.

No. It was best not to linger on these things. The conclusion settled firmly in his mind as he stepped out for an early morning walk. Every now and again he would satisfy the urge for companionship with a quick fling. Male, female, or anything somewhere else on the spectrum, it didn’t really matter to him. But once they’d warmed his bed once or twice he would have to break it off. One partner had spat in his face about “commitment issues” during a particularly bad end. After that he’d stayed clear from that sort of thing for a few years. It just wasn’t worth the hassle.

At least, that’s what he thought. But then that woman had shown up with her green eyes and haunting voice. Something about her interested him, as if there was an intangible quality he couldn’t identify. That must have been why he stopped a few blocks away at a florist to send her a bouquet of white and blue morning glories. She was just a puzzle he wanted to solve, nothing more. 

He paid the merchant and turned towards the guardpost, wanting to speak with his brother before the day’s business really began. His agents had picked up on something sinister in lowtown and he’d sent one of his most capable scouts to trace it. After a week of no word, he tried to track the Crow down, only to find notes about mangled corpses of all races and sizes. The scout noted that the attacks appeared to happen at night and originate from a drainpipe on the edge of the slums. He’d apparently gone to investigate but failed to return. All this despite an order to report once he had concrete information left a bitter taste in Widukind’s mouth. He didn’t lose an operative often, but when he did it always signaled trouble.

He made his way into the lobby and past the jittery gnomish receptionist to his brother’s office. Inside he found Gunnvar nursing a cup of coffee and reading through a report. The older sibling looked up as Widukind entered, raising an eyebrow before saying, “Morning little brother. What brings you here?”

Widukind closed the door behind him, placing his wardstone on it, before turning to reply. “An unfortunate issue, bràthair. I sent one of my best to investigate the incidents in the slums. He didn’t come back.”

Gunnvar sucked in a low breath, “Explain.” 

Widukind launched into an analysis of his findings and was halfway through giving a suggestion when both men heard a disturbance down the hall.

“Lady Dowager, I must insist that you wait a moment! Captain Lunahand is in a meeting-” they heard the gnomish secretary say before he was cut off.

“Whatever meeting it is at this ungodly hour of the morning, I have full access to any information as a council member. Now move aside before you find out just how painful my wrath can be!”

Widukind groaned in annoyance as he realized just which woman was beyond the door and retrieved his wardstone without a moment to spare as she barged in. “Gunnvar! We have much to discuss so send-” she stopped and glared as she realized who the other person in the room was. “What are  _ you _ doing here boy?” Gunnvar’s mother, Cornelia Lunahand, leveled one of the most hostile looks known to man at Widukind.

She stood at a simple five foot three inches with her graying hair tied back in a severe bun. Her fine clothes held the steely blue heraldry of House Lunahand over a stark white but her dark eyes clashed with those of blood relatives of the house. She had a pinched face made worse by a lifetime of petty malice and had despised Widukind from infancy.

Widukind, for his part, was never one to let the banshee get away easy. “My job, Lady Dowager. Now if you’ll excuse us?” he said motioning for her to leave.

“How  _ dare _ you boy! Apologize this moment!” she spat.

Widukind could feel the order take hold as his tattoo sent spikes of pain through his neck and back. He fought through the sensation and remained absolutely silent as he cocked an eyebrow in her direction. Thankfully, Gunnvar stepped in to defuse the situation. “Ignore that order, Widukind,” he said, releasing the half-elf from his discomfort. “Mother, we were just discussing a pressing situation. Unless you have something absolutely  _ earth shattering _ , I strongly recommend you listen to Mister Hillborne and wait in the meeting room next door.” Without much else, the guard captain led his mother out by the elbow and closed the door in her face, placing his own wardstone on the door to protect their privacy.

He gave Widukind an apologetic look as he said, “I’ve been trying to get her to lighten up recently. It seems being on the council has been… difficult.”

Widukind leveled his brother with an unimpressed stare. “ In ainm Dé,  she treats most Crows like dogs and actively wishes death on me, Gunnvar! I don’t give a damn how hard her job is when she keeps sending my people to die in ditches across Prowend for a laugh.” He watched his brother mull that over for a moment before sighing. “Look, I don’t want to deal with her on the way out. I’ll send you a written report including my agent’s findings. Feel free to hire a team to deal with it. I’m certainly not in the mood to waste more lives.” He almost felt guilty leaving Gunnvar to deal with the Lady Dowager. Almost.

* * *

  
  


After returning to the shop he made himself some coffee and set about his tasks. First was the report for Gunnvar that he sent out with one of the early morning fledges. Next he consolidated any new files concerning new arrivals and background checks and adjusted his priority list for new assignments. Work for the Crows aside, he focused on the shop. His discretionary budget came primarily from its profits so he called in a fledge to focus on inventory and cleaning the back room while he took the front. It was an easy assignment for any teenager and he preferred to keep new fledges out of immediate fire. 

The kid left shortly before noon, allowing Widukind a moment of peace before he heard the door chime. He had been in the kitchen making yet another cup of coffee when it rang and called out to the customer before he could see them properly. “Hello how can I-” he began, only to catch himself when he saw Mistress Layla and a redheaded ranger looking about the shop. He catalogued their body language, noting that they weren’t all that familiar with each other, before noticing the flowers Layla had woven into her hair. Some of the same he’d sent her that morning.

He gave her a soft grin before saying, “Mistress Layla. It’s good to see you again after last night’s performance. How can I help you and your friend?”

The sweet smile she gave him in return was dazzling as she called her friend over to place an order. The ranger asked for several odds and ends after giving Widukind a gruff nod. The man paid and turned to Layla to remind her that they had some sort of job the next day before leaving them alone in the shop.

Widukind didn’t miss the subtle blush on Layla’s cheeks as she looked over to him. She bit her lip for a moment before saying, “Oh! I meant to see if you’d take something off my hands yesterday but completely forgot to check. Here!” She rummaged around in her pack to pull out a small case before handing it over.

Widukind kept a polite smile as he flicked it open, raising an eyebrow at the contents. “A disguise kit?” he said, giving her a wry grin. “Now what does someone like you need with something like this?”

Layla blushed further. “Well… Sometimes it comes in handy for performances b-but I haven’t really needed it since leaving Wrord. I thought I may be able to trade it once I got here?”

He felt a small chuckle roll off his chest as he watched her stammer. “I think I can help with that,” he said with a wink. He set it to the side and counted out some coin, intending to offer the kit to one of the fledges later. “Anything else I can do for you?”

He had to hold back a laugh as she somehow blushed even harder. She reached up to twist a lock of hair around her finger as she seemed to gather up the strength for her next words. “Not really. I-I mean… not something to do with the shop that is.”

Even though he knew what she was hinting at, he was never one to let a beautiful person get off easy. “Oh? And what would that be?” he asked, a coy grin taking over his face.

The poor woman stammered for a few moments before taking a deep breath and saying, “I was wondering if you’d… like to get dinner sometime?”

“Were you now?” he said, relentless in his teasing.

“If you’d rather not-” she said, beginning to deflate.

He laughed a little, “Oh, I absolutely would. But I have some other matters to attend to tonight. How about two days from now?”

She blinked at him, slowly realizing that he’d been messing with her. “I- um- sure.”

“Great. I’ll make you dinner,” he said with a grin. “That is if you don’t mind staying in?”

“I- yeah. I’d like that,” she said with a soft smile. “I’ll see you then.”

He saw her out and nodded his goodbye before returning to the counter, laughing softly and beyond pleased with himself. She was damn cute when she blushed.


	5. Chapter 5

Widukind heard the shop bell ring as he put the final touches on dinner. The days had flown by between work and getting ready for his date with Layla. Gods be praised he’d decided to take up cooking as a teenager. It was the one hobby that kept him sane and couldn’t be dismissed as unnecessary for his survival. He heard Layla call out from the front of the shop and replied with a quick, “Back here!”

He heard her step into his kitchen, booted heels clicking against the stone tile. “Hope you like lemon chicken. I forgot to ask if you had any requirements for-” he said while turning to look at her only to stop in his tracks. It wasn’t that she had gone over the top or made major changes, but the small things she did change only served to highlight the same natural beauty that caught his eye the other day.

She’d braided her hair, twisting it around to make a chestnut and white halo around her crown. Her bardic coat had been replaced with an off the shoulder cream top, revealing the smooth skin of her collar and a necklace with her house ring dangled from her neck. If she’d applied any makeup, it was minimal and served to enhance rather than alter. Her green eyes seemed to light up the room and her soft lips curled into a sweet smile.

Realizing that he was staring, Widukind shook himself, whispering the one word that came to mind. “Wow.”

She blushed as he regained his senses and cleared his throat, letting her recover with a laugh. “Chicken is fine! I’m just happy that you cooked, really! I’m not exactly the most creative person in the kitchen.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Really? And here I thought bards were supposed to be the best at that sort of thing,” he said with an easy grin as he pulled a chair out for her. 

She paused to take in the room before sitting. He’d gone to extra lengths to build up the atmosphere. Candles softly lit the place, flickering against the stone floor and plaster walls. If she looked up she would notice the bare rafters of the roof. The table she sat at was weathered oak that had once been painted white and the counters seemed to match in grain and age as they supported stone surfaces. Gwyllen had had good taste when he built the place and Widukind wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He’d bought fresh flowers, more morning glories to add a little color to the counter. The tables had been set with soft linen and ceramic plates and a small fire flickered to kill the nightly chill. He’d bought white wine to match the chicken and baked scalloped potatoes and asparagus spears to complete the meal. 

At present he turned to finish plating and balance the plates on his right arm before serving. She watched him from her perch as she said, “When you said you’d make me dinner I didn’t expect something so…”

“Elaborate?” he offered.

“I was going to go with romantic, but I suppose that works,” she giggled. 

He let out a chuckle of his own as he replied. “I try.” He sat before leveling her with a grin. “So. Who is Mistress Layla?”

She looked a little shy and took a bite before she asked, “What do you mean?”

“The usual, I suppose. Where are you from? Why become a bard? That sort of thing.”

At this point her blush seemed to become a permanent fixture. “W-well I grew up in Wrord. My parents were merchants working with Lord Horthos. He took me in after they passed.” She paused a moment to take a deep breath. “I suppose my musical talents come from my mother. She was quite the songstress.”

“I believe it after your performance the other day,” he said with a smile. “It must have been interesting growing up that way. Can’t say I can quite imagine it.”

“It couldn’t have been that different. I’m sure your parents are equally interesting characters,” she said, making him wince.

“I… don’t have much in the way of family. I grew up in an orphanage of sorts.”

Her eyes widened, horrified at her apparent slip. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to assume…”

“No, no. It’s fine!” he said, lifting his hand to show there had been no harm. “I have a half-brother but that’s it really.” He laughed for her benefit, hoping to ease the tension. He smiled again before saying, “I’m not all that interesting honestly. Just a shopkeep.”

“I doubt that. I wouldn’t have asked to meet if it were the case.” She fluttered her lashes at him as she took another bite, actually tasting it this time. “This is amazing! Where did you learn to cook?”

He chuckled, “I picked a few things up before coming to the city. My time as a soldier kept me up along the border and rations aren’t exactly appetizing.”

Her fork froze halfway to her mouth. “Wait. You learned how to do this on your own?” 

He shrugged as he fought back a smug grin. “Trial and error.”

She looked at him with an odd sort of awe, as she whispered under her breath. If he’d been any less attentive he would have missed it. “Pretty  _ and _ he can cook. Gods.”

He smiled to himself as he grabbed a bite of his own. Things were off to a good start.


	6. Chapter 6

Widukind blinked in shock as his brother updated him on the sewer situation. “Say that again. There was  _ what _ in the sewers?”

Gunnvar deadpanned his reply. “Striga. Some odd form of lesser vampire.”

“And there were  _ two _ ?” the younger sibling asked, somewhat impressed. No wonder his agent had bit the dust. No one could have expected something  _ that _ terrifying and feral. And the fact that the newcomers had done so with relative ease? Well, it stirred something in him as he thought of Layla. He hadn’t assumed anything about her abilities, but taking down something so vicious after being carted into town on a stretcher made her more… interesting.

Before his mind could start to drift into more - ahem - inappropriate thoughts, he looked back to his half-brother and asked, “So, what’s next? They took out half your job board in a week.”

Gunnvar had a slight gleam to his eye that didn’t sit well with the younger sibling as he said, “They’ve shown interest in the scouting job.”

Widukind did a second double take in as many minutes. He’d sent a few of his best rangers to check that place and he hadn’t heard back even after several months. Something about that island made his skin crawl. You know, other than it just appearing out of thin air overnight. The idea of sending a new, unrelated party would normally be something he appreciated, but for some reason the thought of Layla setting foot there left a knot in his chest.  _ I need to get this fascination under control _ , he thought as he processed the information. She was an interesting diversion, but that’s all she  _ could _ be

He was well aware of the consequences should he get too close. It didn’t matter how lovely her voice was or how graceful she’d been at his home several nights before. She was just a temporary distraction to get him through the monotony of work. He’d learned his lesson with Byron.

So it was alright that he’d agreed to see her again. What  _ wasn’t  _ alright was the amount of time he’d spent without giving his brother some input. “I suppose that makes sense. Do you think they’ll actually come back this time?”

Gunnvar sighed and said, “It’s better than sending more agents and guards. We can only afford to lose so many before the entire region becomes a handful.”

Widukind gave a sigh of his own. “You’re telling me. The rookery only sent out three fledges last year, and while I don’t mind avoiding sending children to their deaths, it’s certainly harder to refill lost positions.”

They bantered back and forth for a few moments more before Widukind excused himself to head back to the shop.

* * *

It was the next evening when he met Layla outside the Deranged Barrel for their second date. He gave her his best grin as she came out, dressed as nicely as she had been for their dinner the week before. “You look lovely,” he said with an easy smile.

She blushed as she looked him over herself before saying, “You don’t look too bad yourself.” He offered her his arm and began walking them towards the market district. 

There was going to be a night market that evening and he wanted to show her some of the city. The sun began to set as they arrived to see paper lanterns strung across the square. Different merchants called out to him in recognition as they passed, some hawking their wares, others asking who the “Lovely young Miss” on his arm was. He would crack a grin as she blushed and shout back a reply as they walked by. 

They stopped at a few stalls to grab a bite or for her to eye the more unique wares, not really stopping until they’d found some more substantial street food. They found a bench under some trees and sat to eat and talk. It started out slow, just a bit of small talk and flirting, but overtime became a little more personal. 

She would ask about his soldiering days and he would have to fire back the backstory the council had provided. He would ask about her time in Wrord and she would dodge the facts concerning her fiance. Eventually they found a happy rhythm that stayed on the surface but still was deep enough to be interesting. Some of that talk included her upcoming excursion to the island, giving him a chance to caution her against anything reckless.

He lost track of time as the night went on and had almost forgotten himself when he spotted an agent out the corner of his eye. The other Crow hadn’t noticed him yet but had brought his mood to a crashing halt.  _ I’m losing track of my priorities _ , he thought as he resolved to walk her back to the inn.  _ She’s interesting, but I need to focus. _

He mentioned the hour and took her home, expecting to simply wish her good night and go on his merry way. But she surprised him as she reached up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Good night, Widukind,” she smiled. “I had a lot of fun.”

He smiled down at her as he squeezed her hand. “As did I. It’s a shame you’ll be gone for a few weeks.”

She giggled. “I hope I won’t keep you waiting  _ too  _ long. I would miss your company.” She froze, afraid that she’d been too forward.

He chuckled and slipped her a smoldering grin. “I would miss you as well, Mistress Layla. Let’s hope the work goes quickly.” He gave her a wink and turned to leave. Smiling his entire way home.


	7. Chapter 7

The island was gone. Just gone. One moment it had been there and the next it had disappeared leaving a tidal wave large enough to wipe out half of the slums. For the first few hours he’d remained hopeful, reorganizing his agents to keep any threats in check. But within a day with no word from the newcomers, Widukind began to worry.

He became increasingly short-tempered, snapping at agents and his brother alike. He couldn’t explain the shift to himself, let alone anyone else. Sure the situation was stressful, he’d had to relocate a dozen agents and deal with the council. But it didn’t quite cover the dread that had taken hold of him. It took a week before he pinpointed the source.

He didn’t want to believe it at first, that he had become attached to Layla. But the way she smiled lingered on his mind. He couldn’t help but remember that chaste kiss she’d given him as he said goodbye the week before or the way that she’d sang her ballads.

In his mind she’d become the pinnacle of grace, the way she moved calling memories of swaying willow trees along the border with Imammelle. Her conversation was always sharp and her wit was quick, making every discussion they’d had all the more enjoyable. He hated himself for it.

_ Crows don’t get attached. Crows don’t yearn for a pretty smile. Crows don’t feel sadness when a woman they’ve barely met disappears on some crazy feckin island.  _ The thought replayed in his head like a mantra as the months dragged on. One. Then two. Then three. 

At the beginning of the fourth month his mental barriers against what he was actually feeling had begun to break down. He began to realize that it hadn’t  _ just  _ been attachment. He’d been falling hard and fast for her without even knowing it. Her eyes had pulled him in with their ability to convey pain and joy in equal measure. Her smile had given him a now fleeting hope that he too could feel that sort of elation. Her voice had never made any promises but the memory of it haunted his dreams, like heaven just out of reach.

By the fifth month the nightmares began. His sleeping mind had somehow combined memories of her and Byron, showing him horrifying scenes with two bodies instead of one. Gunnvar showed his concern over and again by visiting the shop nearly every day. One in particular made his half-brother’s worry come to a head.

Gunnvar had strolled in to find Widukind half-asleep and pale behind the counter. Flipping the sign to “Closed” and locking the door, he approached his younger brother who couldn’t even muster a response. “When was the last time you ate?” he asked, crossing his arms.

Widukind opened his mouth only to be interrupted by a pained gurgle. “A while.”

Gunnvar sighed and massaged his eyes before looking back at his brother. “That’s it. It’s time for you to rest.”

“There’s no need, bràthair. I’m fine.” He could hardly keep his head up as a fresh wave of exhaustion hit.

“If you don’t go now, I’ll have to order you,” he ground out. 

Widukind looked back at him in semi-shock. Gunnvar rarely ordered him to do anything, even going so far as to actively avoid authoritative phrasing around him. It was a sign of respect and brotherly care. He began to protest but the words died in his throat as another gurgle sounded. Wincing he rose and walked back towards the kitchen, Gunnvar following close behind. 

Under his brother’s watchful eye, he managed to down some porridge and dried fruit, flavorful foods having made him nauseous. He sat in silence at the kitchen table for several minutes after, just staring into space as his brother looked on in worry. Unable to stand the oppressive atmosphere, Gunnvar sat down beside him. 

“It’s the bard that went missing, isn’t it?”

The only reply was Widukind pressing his lips into a thin line, giving a slight nod.

Gunnvar took a deep breath, preparing himself to give a rare pep talk. “You need to let it out, brother. Bottling it up like this is going to kill you.”

Widukind squeezed his eyes shut as he reached his hand up to trace the scars on his right arm, tipping the older sibling off to his distress. “I don’t think I can, Gunnvar. I don’t know how.”

Sighing in frustration, Gunnvar lifted a sending stone from his pocket and fired off a message. “Mr. Hillborne? I need you to cancel the rest of my meetings for today and everything until tomorrow afternoon. Something’s come up.”

The gnome’s voice echoed across affirming the information and assenting to the request, prompting Gunnvar to stand up and reach into his brother’s liquor cabinet. Pulling out the strongest bottle he saw, he grabbed two glasses and began to pour. “If you don’t know how, then I’ll just have to fecking show you, little brother.”

Widukind blinked in shock. Gunnvar rarely swore, and never in elvish. “And how do you suppose you’ll do that, bràthair? By drinking me under the table?”

“Precisely,” he shot back. “We are going to get piss drunk. You are going to have a full breakdown. And then you’re going to get some sleep. In the morning we’ll both bemoan our hangovers and then you’ll take a few days to rest. Sound good?”

“I-” Widukind blinked, “I suppose so.”

“Good. Now drink up, little brother. We’ve got a lot of unpacking to do.” And they did. Six or seven shots in Widukind began to tell Gunnvar things he’d refused to even admit to himself. That she’d been enchanting and had a beautiful mind that could keep him talking for hours. That he wished he’d kissed her that last night. That if he could he’d go back in time, he’d do it all over again, just for a few more minutes with her. That he’d started falling in love with her. And that he’d hate himself until the day he died for it. 

Come morning, his appetite had returned and over the next few days he caught up on sleep. By the six month he was still heartbroken, but he could breathe again. And then word came.

They were back and the six hellish months for him had been one week in the feywild. It was fecking batshit to him, but he’d collapsed in his room with relief anyway and shook. She was alive. She was ok. And she had no idea how it had throttled him… Feck.


	8. Chapter 8

Layla sat across his table, distressed and spilling her guts. Most of what she said was nothing new to Widukind, but seeing her alive made every word she spoke a miracle to him. He had had to stop himself from rushing her when she walked into the shop, starved for her presence. Instead he’d let out a relieved sigh and welcomed her back with a tight smile, hoping she wouldn’t notice the strain.

Now she was rushing out frantic explanations of her entire life up until now. “I don’t know what’s going on! I mean, I made this deal with the Summer Lady and now I have this,” she gestured to the barely visible mark on her chest, “and I’m supposed to look for this person who I was already trying to track down. I was looking into him for Lord Horthos and myself because… well…” 

She looked ashamed for a moment before continuing, “Because I think he killed my fiance, Lord Horthos’ son.”

He just nodded at her, bits of information clicking into place.

Encouraged she continued, “And on top of that, the Lady said all manner of cryptic things and I. Don’t. Know. What to do. And now I’m throwing all of this at you and you probably don’t even want to hear about it because I was gone for  _ six months _ and you probably thought I was dead.” She sucked in a breath as she finished, having rushed through the last few sentences.

He reached out and grasped her hand without thinking and said, “Don’t worry about the time you were away. I’m just glad you’re back and safe. I was feckin worried.” He gave her a weak smile as he thought about how he’d been while she was missing. “Besides, we all have our baggage. This is just one more part of who you are, and I would be a coward if I walked away now. That is…” He paused as he caught himself. “That is, if you still want to see each other.” 

She rushed to say, “No! I mean… I still want to if you do.” A blush crept across her face, briefly taking his breath away.

He grinned back at her. “I’d really like that. Now tell me about this griffin I keep hearing about.” He gestured to the makeshift sling across her chest where she cradled the hatchling.

She gave him a relieved smile and launched into how they’d found the little fluffball. “I think I’ll name her Rhea. She seems pretty attached. Geoff said she imprinted on me.”

The entire time she spoke, he watched her eyes light up and knew that he was totally and irrevocably in love with this woman. He just had no idea how to say it without needing to lie through his teeth. As she continued, he reached over to scratch the griffon’s head and was rewarded with a trill and happily scrunched talons. He’d find a way to make this right. He had to.


End file.
